


too long the children's voices sing of death

by philthestone



Series: pocket full of sand 'verse [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: (he's not dead! that's always nice), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, also ahsoka is clearly luke and leia's crazy aunt, and she takes the mickey out of han CONSTANTLY, anyway, mace windu Returns, some mentions of the rebels gang actually!!!, woo im expanding the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t exactly that he’d not <em>expected</em> Ahsoka. In fact, her presence here makes perfect logical sense, all things considered. And it isn’t that he’s thrown by how much she’s grown, either; ten years herald the inevitable changes that accompany the passage of time, after all, and being thrown by the expected is foolish. The Force gives and takes as it wills, and time passes outside of even a Jedi’s sphere of control.</p><p>Of course, the fact that she's accompanied by a chattering ten-year-old with a mop of yellow hair and a smirking, engine-grease-covered teenager is only confusing Mace more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too long the children's voices sing of death

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd expand the 'verse a bit more, throw in some references to the Rebels gang and give some backstory. 
> 
> hopefully I got Mace Windu's characterization right, and honestly, don't tell me that Luke wouldn't be an incessant chatterbox as a little kid, constantly excited about everything
> 
> timeline is about a year after "like bright songbirds", I think? I can't even remember. If the continuity doesn't make any sense lemme know and I'll puzzle it out; I wrote these so long ago, initially, that I can't even remember which comes when
> 
> Reviews are love!

He had never expected ten years of solitude to be so … isolated.

Certainly, isolation had its merits, and he wasn’t completely alone in the middle of the Mon Cal ocean; two younglings smuggled out from the Temple before the clone – _storm_ troopers arrived, bundled in overlarge robes to disguise them and taken on as his – 

What? Padawans? Mace hadn’t had a proper padawan learner in ages, it felt, and while quite used to their presence in the Temple, two of them at once with only each other for company was … admittedly daunting, at first.

Ten years of isolation, of lingering nerves ( _a Jedi knows no emotion_ – but then, that couldn’t be _all_ there was to it, anymore, and he found himself wondering, doubting, second-guessing. One wrong move, was all that was on his mind – one step the wrong direction, and all could have been lost.)

( _Jedi_ – what exactly does that word mean, anymore? _It’s been ten years_.)

But that was ten years ago, and he was – _is_ – nothing if not stubborn and fiercely in control. The galaxy had been in shambles. He’d had to cling to the only things he had left.

(Sidious’s shriek of anger, that unearthly wail when Anakin had stepped back, the fire in his eyes burning blue, so bright and clear and _blue – “No,”_ he’d said. _“I don’t need you.”_

Mace had never been more frightened in his life.)

He hesitates before leaving Kira and Torn at the camouflaged transport, their eyes wide with wonder, taking in their new surroundings. Almost twenty and they’ve not yet seen anything of the galaxy; Mace feels a strange pang in his chest when he thinks of his own days as a padawan – of the younglings at the Temple, sent out into the wild barely two days after they’d balanced themselves on their feet, thrown into a fruitless civil war that only ended in heartbreak.

Ahsoka’s montrals have grown taller, longer; her markings stretched. She has grown – more than in just height and weight, but in her eyes as well, in the guarded flick of her irises, the brittle set of her lips. Her grey tunic is covered by a scratched breastplate, the tops of her leather spacer boots reaching her kneecaps, gloved fingers tapping against her bicep as she regards him.

“Master Windu,” she says, finally. “It’s been a long time.”

Her twin lightsabers are still hanging from her belt.

 _(Jedi_ , he thinks again. A _Jedi_.)

“Ten years,” he agrees.

( _It’s time_ , said the message, beeping lighting in the middle of the night. _I’m sending you encrypted coordinates now.)_

She tilts her head to the side slightly and lets her arms swing down by her sides. “Obi-Wan commed you,” she guesses. “Alright, then, I’ll take you to the powers that be. Or, uh,” she gives a humorless grin and raises her fingers to form air quotes; “the _command_ center.”

It isn’t exactly that he’d not _expected_ Ahsoka. In fact, her presence here makes perfect logical sense, all things considered. And it isn’t that he’s thrown by how much she’s grown, either; ten years herald the inevitable changes that accompany the passage of time, after all, and being thrown by the expected is foolish. The Force gives and takes as it wills, and time passes outside of even a Jedi’s sphere of control.

There is something about her, though, about her sense, her presence – it’s so different, so very guarded and _closed off_.

But he cannot say he expected the same girl who left, either, all those years ago. (There is a small part of him that does not blame her for her tense spine, or the strained look of her smile.)

Mace sighs. “We’d agreed that when the time was right, he would,” he says, crossing his arms. “Evidently, the time is right.”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” says the young Togruta (ten years isn’t all _that_ much, Mace thinks stubbornly, remembering Yoda’s blithe comments over their encrypted holocall), turning to lead him through the cramped hangar bay that seems to be more of a hole in the metaphorical wall than any sort of real military base. The motley assortment of freighters and gunfighters squeezed into the small space make for interesting scenery, and Mace hopes that neither of his charges manage to upset anything vitally important from their spot by the ship. He nods at Kira before following Ahsoka, and the young Twil’ek’s pink lekku swing as she nods back, the smile on her face large and excited. Torn is doing a very bad job of not gaping up at the high ceiling in amazement. “I’m guessing,” says Ahsoka blithely, as Mace picks up his pace and falls into step beside her, “that their experience with hangar bays is pretty woeful. ‘Cause all things considered, this one’s a disaster.”

“No,” admits Mace, “we have been … fairly isolated.”

“So have most of us,” says Ahsoka, fingers fiddling at her belt. He decides not to mention hesitation at the word “us” and nods, wondering how Kenobi had done, holed away in some corner of the Tatooine desert.

Or Skywalker, for that matter. Or any of them.

“They were younglings,” Mace says, quietly, and Ahsoka turns to look at him, her steps faltering. “At the Temple. We had to take as many as we could, each of us, before we went into hiding.”

“I know.” Her voice is soft, and she refuses to meet his eyes, fingers twitching at her sides. “They – you – it was lucky. That you got there on time.”

She turns and begins walking again, her steps brisk and purposeful, and Mace follows. _She knows, then. It was inevitable that she do, that necessity would drive her to come back – or did someone else go to her?_

“How organized are we?” he asks, tugging his hood away from his forehead and taking in the motley assortment of sentients scattered over the landing pads, doing maintenance on the ships, conversing, laughing, lounging about. The Force is bright and buzzing with energy, voices crowing over each other to be heard in the cramped space. Somewhere on the other side of the hangar, Mace can hear the distinct sound of childish laughter. “Does Command have an action plan?”

“Of sorts,” says Ahsoka, hesitant, turning to cross a landing pad and heading to the end of the hangar. “It’s there, but it needs to be … well, like I said, everyone’s a little isolated. This base is the biggest one out there, but we don’t have nearly enough man power to do anything other than poke the Imps with a stick.”

“The Imps?”

“Appropriately demeaning, Master, I’m sure you approve.”

“I see.” Mace ducks to avoid a low-hanging piece of equipment. “And Command?”

Ahsoka turns, pursing her lips. “Obi-Wan didn’t say much in his comm., did he?”

Mace frowns. “It would have been unwise to have said more than he did, Tano.”

“Yeah …” Ahsoka makes a face. “Well, you’ll see soon enough. Obi-Wan’ll be happy to see you, anyway.”

She stops abruptly, standing under the canopy of an old freighter’s hull and looking up. It’s scuffed up fairly badly, at least as old as the Clone Wars, and Mace lifts an eyebrow.

“You’re not ready for a frontal assault, I gather.”

Ahsoka’s back stiffens, her brows twitching inwards, and she crosses her arms.

“We’re far from completely hopeless. The cell on Lothal is really starting to pick up – you know Senator Organa is still spying in the senate, right? So we’ve got him on our side, as well as Bel Iblis, and –”

“Ahsoka,” says Mace, quietly. “I am not here to judge your base’s abilities.”

She looks pained, but her stance loosens and she sighs, looking up at him. “This isn’t – it’s very different from before, Master Windu.”

He nods (and remembers the fear in Torn’s gait when they ran through the Coruscanti customs, remembers the stubborn frown on Kira’s face as he snapped at her to _focus, Padawn, you need to focus more_. He remembers the helplessness of the Clone Wars and the lost look in Skywalker’s eyes, standing, swaying on the spot as he yelled for Mace to _stop, it’s not the Jedi way!)_

“Ten years,” he says, “has made us all a little wiser, I think.”

Her eyes widen fractionally and she stands a little taller, and when she smiles this time, the twitch of her lips is warm and genuine. Mace raises and eyebrow in return, and feels it crawl higher when she reaches up and raps her knuckles against the battered hull of the ship beside them, the sound reverberating tinny and loud into the air.

There’s a _clang_ , as though someone dropped a hydrospanner, and Ahsoka’s loud, “Hey, Kid, you up there?” is almost drowned out by a thump and bout of loud and colourful swearing.

Mace watches as a head pokes down from over the ledge of the hull, upside down and smeared with engine oil, scowling at Ahsoka.

“You’re barely five years older’n me.”

“Semantics ,” says Ashoka, grinning. “You seen Skyguy?”

The man – _boy_ , really – hanging over the edge of the ship is unsurprisingly young. Barely past twenty, Mace decides (and quickly brushes off the jolt he feels at Ahsoka’s use of the familiar nickname, used by her so many times in the past – wondering how much Skywalker has changed in the past ten years) as he hauls himself over the edge of the ship to land semi-gracefully on his feet in front of them, nearly tripping over his long legs and tugging the dirty fabric of his shirt into place where it has ridden up his ribs. He pushes his spot-welding goggles up his forehead, smearing his skin with black oil and causing the brown fringe of his shaggy hair to stick up in all directions.

“Who the hell is he?”

“I asked first.”

“Uh,” he says, biting his lip. “This morning? He said he was gonna be talking to Rieekan and the Cap.”

Ahsoka’s smile dims slightly. “About the supply situation?”

“I dunno,” says the boy. “I don’t think they’re gonna try anything crazy without some backup though. Lothal still hasn’t answered, right?”

“Not that I know of,” says Ahsoka, her forehead creasing, montrals twitching. “Dume has contact with Obi-Wan, but they’re struggling too. Something about a fake name –” She taps her foot on the ground, restless. “Hm. Well, you think he’ll be by his ship with Artoo? We need an action plan. Like, now, and –”

“Probably.” The boy wipes his hand on the side of his rumpled shirt and hefts his welder, leaning against the bulkhead, raising his eyebrows at Mace. Mace regards him, inwardly marveling at how he manages to be so carelessly disrespectful by a mere raising of an eyebrow. “So who’s this?”

“Do we even – sith,” mutters Ahsoka, ignoring him. “Sith, sith, sith. Rex told me we were going to need extra supplies.”

“We _do_ need extra supplies. I just got back, and this ‘aint nearly enough.”

“Oh, _Force_. Did you run into any trouble?”

The steady chatter of noise that is surrounding them in the hangar bay is broken by a peal of childish laughter, clear and bright. Mace keeps his eyes trained on the young man standing in front of him talking to Ahsoka and feels the anxiety that had abruptly started rolling off the Togruta diminish somewhat. Her ability to control her emotions has lessened over the years, he guesses – but then, so has his. And Ahsoka was never an expert at it to begin with, he remembers, her personality far too similar to Skywalker’s for comfort, really, and wonders how they found each other again, after all this time, all these bygone disasters.

There’s the flash of a signature that’s rippling towards them, oddly familiar and glimmering white and blue and happy in the Force. It shines brightly through the multitude of energies flaring around them in the hangar, happy and excited, and Mace feels himself frown slightly. _What –_

“Well, not really,” the boy is saying, shrugging his shoulders easily. “Vizago tried to make me pay double like the shavhead he is, but I told him to stick it in their –”

Mace barely has the chance to raise his eyebrows bemusedly at the boy’s choice of words when the child’s laughter sounds again, right behind them, and a blur of grey linen and blond shoots past him and nearly barrels into the young pilot talking to Ahsoka.

Far from being startled, the pilot leans down midsentence, quick and easy, catching the blur around the midriff and swinging it up and over his shoulder in one fluid, well-practiced motion.

“ – asses, so we only paid ten after all. Oh, and Chewie threatened to rip their arms off.”

The bundle now slung over the boy’s shoulder is squirming furiously, blond mop of hair hanging upside down as it tries to wriggle out of its prison. It’s a child, male, no older than nine or ten, with scrawny arms and legs and big, startlingly blue eyes, and he’s hanging upside down like a sack of flour over the pilot’s shoulder.

His Force signature is absurdly bright – Mace recognizes it as the one he felt moments before.

“Han!” yelps the little boy. “Lemme down!”

“What’s the secret password?”

“No fair, lemme go!”

“Nope, that’s not it.”

“Pumme down, I told Leia I’d race her to the _Starwing_ , I promise I won’t run into anyone –”

“Nope,” says the boy called Han cheerfully, hefting the small body more securely over his shoulder. “You gotta use your Jedi powers to escape.”

 _“Euurgh,_ ” says the little boy, his face turning pink, even as he starts giggling. “You’re the _worst_.”

Han grins cheerfully and winks at Mace, as though to say _I am, aren’t I?_ “You seen your Dad?”

“He’s with Aunt Sabe by his ship, now _lemme go –”_

“Can’t. You gotta say hello to the new guy.”

The boy stops wriggling, another giggle escaping mouth as he lets his skinny arms hang down in defeat. His face is slowly turning pink from being held upside down, and Mace can feel the child’s excitement pulsating in the Force; he makes an exaggerated face, rolling his eyes down to look at Han.

“Do I _have_ to?”

Han repositions his arms, slightly, so that the boy is more secure, and looks at Ahsoka, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Your Mom’ll have our heads if you’re not polite.” A smirk, and he’s looking back at Mace. “Right, Tano?”

“That’s _Commander_ Tano to you, Solo,” says Ahsoka, but her smile is lingering. “Go on – introduce yourselves, then.”

“I’m Luke!” says the little boy loudly, before Han can so much as open his mouth. “Nice to meet you!” His mouth promptly clamps shut again and he resumes his wriggling. Ahsoka sighs, gesturing between Han and Mace.

“Master, this is Han Solo. Han, Jedi Master Mace Windu.”

“I see,” says Mace, lifting an eyebrow as Luke freezes stiff and Han’s mouth drops open.

“And, as mentioned,” adds Ahsoka, “that’s Luke.”

“No frakin’ way,” breathes Han Solo. Luke’s legs drop down against his back.

“Master Windu?” Luke’s face is pinker than ever, and his blue eyes are like saucers. “ _The_ Master Windu? Like from the Clone Wars? You were on the Jedi Council, right? You’re a real live actual Jedi! Wow! Does Dad know you’re here? Should we tell Dad? Does Uncle Ben know?”

“Alright buddy,” Han says, nudging his shoulder against Luke’s chest, eyes trained carefully on Mace, just a little too wide. “Damp down your power core.”

“Aunt ‘Soka! That’s Master Windu!”

“That is my name, yes,” says Mace, feeling a reluctant smile tug at his lips despite himself. He takes in the child’s dimpled, rosy cheeks and the pulsing energy that surrounds his Force presence, his eyes flicking over the way his ribs are sticking out against his skin where the linen tunic has slipped down. “You said you were Luke?”

“Luke Skywalker!” says the boy excitedly. “Oh, boy, wait ‘til I tell Leia –”

“Sky –” Mace blinks – once, twice.

(As if it happened just yesterday: the smoke against the horizon, the frantic comm call and the pounding of his heart when the realization hit, that they still couldn’t stop it – the disturbance in the clones’ Force signature, the way Skywalker’s hands were shaking on the speeders controls as they’d rushed back towards the Temple and suddenly, no, they weren’t at the Temple, they were –

“Master Windu,” Anakin had gasped, as a very pregnant, very worried-looking Senator Amidala climbed aboard the back of their speeder and tucked a blaster into her skirts, “I’d like to formally introduce you to my wife.”

To Senator Amidala’s credit, she’d certainly taken the whole thing in her stride, her eyes only widening with shock fractionally before she smiled a strained smile and grasped Mace’s outstretched hand; after all, he’d thought tiredly, it wasn’t as though they could do anything about it _now_.)

(He can still remember it vividly. The clones at the Temple and Kira and Torn behind him because he’d thought, immediately, _I am not leaving the premises without these sentients_ – Shaak Ti falling before his eyes, black and blue and flames licking the sky and everything in the Force so _grey_ and _bleak_ and the threads were just _snapping_ all over the place – the agreement, _hide, we must, until the time is right –_

_Hidehidehidehidedeathdespairbrokeness._

Not for the first time _(for the hundredth time, in fact_ ) he’d had echoes of doubts as to the true connection there was between Skywalker’s fate and that of the galaxy at large. This, the carnage and fear around him, the nebulous promise of _when the time is right_ was _not_ balance.)

(And they’d been separated, Mace had thought, Skywalker and the Senator, and the children –)

“– bet she already knows all about you,” the boy is saying, oblivious to Mace’s shock. “Leia’s my sister, she’s the _greatest_ , but she can be kinda annoying sometimes. Hey, maybe we can –”

 _“Luke,_ ” says Han, barely holding back his laughter. Luke stops mid-sentence and frowns up at the older boy.

_“What?”_

“Give the poor guy some space, Kiddo.”

 _Twins_ , Mace remembers, remembers the jolt of surprise he’d had at Obi-Wan’s message, because that was – _is_ – very interesting indeed –

“I see,” Mace says, regaining his composure and pressing his lips together. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ahsoka’s mouth twitch, feels her tiny nudge in the Force. “It’s – it’s fine. He can keep talking, if he likes.”

But Luke Skywalker is shaking his head, the pink in his cheeks a smidgen brighter than before. “Leia’s always telling me I talk too much, so it’s okay if I need to be quiet.”

The sheepish grimace is complimented by Solo’s fond grin, unseen by the upside-down boy, and Mace can feel Ahsoka watching him as he gives a bemused grin of his own and crosses his arms.

“I see,” he says again, lifting his chin. “And do you usually spend your free time running around at full speed, Luke, or is today an anomaly?”

“Wha - oh!” Luke grins, showing off a missing tooth. “I was racing Leia to the _Starwing_!” he explains, kicking his legs again. Solo ducks his head expertly and shakes his head.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he says, his voice blunt. Mace raises an eyebrow; Solo does not mince words, apparently, and Mace wonders again at the continued disrespect (but what reason would he have to show respect, really? Mace thinks again, _ten years_ , and inhales thinly), the uneasy tilt of the boy’s shoulders – and the familiarity with which Luke is handled, grinning and happy.

“A lot of beings are supposed to be dead, Solo.” He keeps his voice toneless. “Commander Tano, here, for example.”

“I try,” says Ahsoka, uncrossing her arms. “Alright, I’ll take you to see Anakin now. He’ll probably know where Obi-Wan is, too. You said he was by his ship, right Luke?

“Sure,” says Luke, wriggling a little. “Han, can you put me down now? My head’s feeling fuzzy.”

“Shavit, yeah, here,” is muttered quickly as Luke is tugged down by the armpits, his feet swinging down to skim the floor with worn, threadbare, slipper-soled feet. The profanity seems to slip out unmeditated and Ahsoka rolls her eyes a little as she turns back to Mace.

“Anakin and Obi-Wan would want to see you – and Rex, if we can find him. Probably still working on setting up comms with Lothal, and Dume’s a sarcastic pain in the ass on good days, but I’ll see if I can find him after we get you filled in.”

“Cut ‘em some slack,” says Solo, “it’s just the two of ‘em and they’re more of a pain in the Empire’s ass than most. And he’d do better talking to Syndulla.” The echo of a smirk is colouring his words. “She’s the one who keeps that whole operation in line.”

“You met them _once_ ,” Ahsoka tosses over her shoulder, but she’s grinning nonetheless. She’s still hesitant, guarded, but nothing more than what is necessary at the brink of another war. Mace averts his eyes abruptly from Luke’s grinning face and inhales sharply.

( _The Seperatists have declared war on the Republic -_ )

“Lead the way,” he tells her, gesturing with his hand, and Ahsoka gives him a small quirk of the lips, her shoulders shrugging impulsively, and steps forward.

“Wait!” says Luke, in the process of scrunching his face and blinking, waiting for the blood to drain back to his toes. “We could give you a tour of the base after you’re done, Master Windu! It’s really big, and you could get lost if you didn’t know where you were going.”

There’s a pause. Ahsoka stifles a laugh, sudden and bright behind her hand, and Mace stares at Luke.

“Oh, c’mon,” groans Solo. “You know I’ve gotta fix those hydro-releases on the Falcon.”

Luke sticks his tongue out into the air. “I never said _you_ had to come. I’ll show him by myself!”

“Like I’ll let you run around the base by yourself,” says the older boy, loosely wrapping his long arms around Luke’s torso. “You’re worse than Leia sometimes, and that’s sayin’ something.”

“But –”

Mace considers the sincerity colouring the blue of Luke’s eyes, the top of the boy’s head barely coming up to Mace’s chest and the way the rosy shine of his cheeks contrasts again the scratched, worn, grey of the rest of the hangar bay.

“My two padawans,” says Mace carefully, “are at the front of the hangar. They’ve never seen a bay like this one before, and I’m sure they’d appreciate getting a run-down of the situation.”

“Really?” asks Luke, bouncing up and down on his feet and bumping the back of his neck against Han’s chest. “Great! Okay, let’s go. Han, you can come with me if you _want_ but I’m in charge so you have to do what I say –”

“Their names are Kira and Torn,” Mace says, not having anticipated the immediate need for action (he’s losing his touch, perhaps, or maybe Luke is just different from anything he has experienced in a long time) as Luke tugs his tunic down and grins up at him, showing off his missing tooth again. “Kira’s the older one, she’s standing at the –”

“It’s okay, we’ll find them!” He’s already turned to run back the way Mace came. “It was wizard meeting you, Master Windu!” Luke is saying, and Mace wonders, briefly, if this was what Obi-Wan once had to deal with. “Say, do you think we can get Leia too, Han, cause they might like to meet her too –”

The older boy seems no less thrown off by Luke’s steady stream of chatter than Ahsoka is. “We’re just showing ‘em the sights, Kid.”

Mace catches the way Luke’s small hand grabs his friend’s wrist and the slight, interested twitch of Solo’s eyebrows at the word _she_ and sighs internally, watching them weave through boxes of supplies and duck under low hanging wings, the bright chatter growing vaguely fainter as they retreat.

“I call pointing out the landmarks!”

“You mean like the portable ‘freshers?”

“Yeah! And that big rock that looks like Chewie’s head!”

“Maybe we should ask _them_ what they wanna see, Kira or whatever her name was –”

“Kira and Torn, and – aw, _ew_ , you’re making that _face_ again –”

“I’m making a _face?”_

“Like, the _ooh, it’s a girl_ face, oh my gods, you’re so _weird_ Han, it’s just a _girl_ – “

“What? No I don’t! What face? That’s –”

“Like that time me and Leia wanted to play hide and seek on the Falcon and that one lady was there talking to you –”

“Shut up, Luke!”

Mace stares after them, Luke’s snickering intermingling with Han’s protests. Ahsoka is smirking beside him, her arms crossed to mirror his own.

“He’s something, huh?”

“I –” Mace presses his lips together and shakes his head, drawing on the Force. He may be losing his touch, possibly, but it takes more than the brunt of the past ten years put together and some old, haunted memories to throw him off guard. “I assume he gets this from his father?”

“Oh, his sister’s worst,” says Ahsoka, grin widening fondly, and Mace is about to respond when something ripples through the Force, a new and very, very familiar presence.

“You sure you wanna be talking about my kids that way, Snips?”

Mace turns.

Anakin Skywalker is grinning, his fingers looped through the belt at his waste, one eyebrow raised challengingly at them; he’s not looking at Ahsoka, and Mace feels the slight nudge of the Force, sees Skywalker’s piercing blue eyes, so similar to his son’s (but holding a hardness forged by many years of war and suffering and, _oh,_ sees Mace, there is still the barest flicker of that wildness in them, even these ten years later) flick over him and take him in.

He’s dressed casually, tunic tucked into his belt and looking more the part of a spacer than a Jedi _(but does Mace look the part anymore, either?)_ , an armoured shoulder plate strapped against his chest and some sort of shawl that’s masquerading as a robe wrapped around his torso. His hair is ridiculously, ridiculously long, longer even than that atrocity Kenobi once wore all those years ago, a beard peppering his chin where he’s either forgotten or not had the time to shave. The scar over his eye ripples when he smiles, lines around his eyes tired and deep – aged half a lifetime in a decade, and Mace realizes suddenly that there’s a stability to Skywalker’s presence that is somewhat unfamiliar.

His lightsaber is still hanging from his belt, though, the same place it always did, and his boots (while scuffed and worn and discoloured by dirt) are the same ones issued to him by the Temple dispensary at the age of eighteen.

“Anakin,” says Mace, and when the younger man smirks Mace realizes that he’d tried to prod at him without even realizing it.

“Master Windu,” says Skywalker.

Mace arches an eyebrow. “It’s been a while, Skywalker.”

This time, the grin offered is full and genuine; any tensions lingering from the past momentarily forgotten in wake of a familiar face. “Welcome to our humble hole in the wall, Master. You want the grand tour, or should we go see Obi-Wan first so we can depress you with how much the Empire is crushing us under their heel, first?”

And, watching Skywalker spread his hands out in that same, all-too familiar gesture, his eyebrows raised expectantly, Mace laughs.


End file.
